Skyrim: Dragonborn Returns
by Code-name CERBERUS
Summary: 17 years after the Dragon Crisis, the Imperial Legion returns to retake Skyrim led by a vengeful general and a brutally violent Legate. A scout for the Army of Skyrim bands together with a long since retired Dragonborn to defend Skyrim and her people. But not all is what it seems, not all is black and white and line between good and evil will be broken.
1. Chapter 1

Skyrim: Dragonborn Returns

 **4E 218, 9th of Morning Star**

 **Skyrim/Cyrodiil Border**

Torval had not been asleep for even a moment before he felt himself being ripped from his tent and dragged away. Through his adrenaline filled gaze, he could tell that it was still night but the sky was obscured by the tall trees that resided around the south of Skyrim. It was early in the year and the winter's snowfall had yet to thaw.

He had no idea who had a hold of him, only that they were very strong. On their apparel, they had no identifying markings and he could not make out features through the darkness. Soon, they reached another camp nestled in the hills. Torval made the guess that they were beyond the border of Skyrim and had entered Cyrodiil, home of the Imperials.

Torval was brought into a large ornate tent and was thrown to the ground at the feet of a tall man standing beside a wooden table with a map of Tamriel rolled across it. He now had a chance and the proper lighting to see who his abductors were. Their armor seemed Imperial in manufacturing but had no sigils or markings on the breastplate or shoulder guards.

The tall man crouched in front of Torval and held his head up with his hand. He gazed down at him condescendingly.

"Look at this." the man said under his breath while taking in Torval's features. "This is what becomes of savages with no one to maintain order."

He was referring to Torval's Nordic features. His long blond hair was bound into several larger dreads and his long beard was braided.

"When the Empire was in control, these were banned." he said, grabbed a handful of Torval's hair. "This chaos is why we must return to order."

Another soldier entered the tent. "General, the reinforcements have arrived." he said before turning on his heels and walking out.

General Bayleon Charteris walked out into the brisk mountain air and smiled as three battalions of troops amassed in the valley below. Three riders were approaching. They rode right up to the tents and dismounted swiftly. They gave Bayleon an Imperial salute and removed their helmets.

The first man held out his hand for an embrace and Bayleon acknowledged it. "The Empire has finally seen the need to retake Skyrim. The Stormcloaks are all but disbanded and from what our spies tell, turmoil is on the brink of eruption from within." "What of the Stormcloak leaders? It was their cunning that ensured our defeat 17 years ago." Bayleon asked.

Legate Evodius nodded thoughtfully. "The Usurper Ulfric's body has aged poorly and he is no longer fit for command. Galmar Stone-Fist still leads the majority of their army but the wounds he sustained in the Siege of Solitude have left him physically unable."

"And the Third?"

Legate Evodius was about to speak but was cut off by one of Evodius' companions who had been silent up until that point.

"He has retreated into seclusion. He will not be a problem, I assure you."

Bayleon nodded. "I will take your word for it, Commander Hadvar."

Hadvar smiled. He hoped with all his being that the Third wouldn't interfere. Despite Hadvar's allegiance to the Empire and the Third allying himself with the Stormcloaks, they still escaped Helgen together. It was the will of the Eight that they never met on the battlefield.

/

 **4E 218, 12th of Morning's Star**

 **Whiterun, Province of Skyrim**

Jarl Frothar sat in the chair that he had inherited from his father, Balgruuf the Greater. He had definitely earned that title, Balgruuf had won many battles and aided Ulfric in the liberation of Skyrim. Sadly, he had taken ill a decade prior and passed rather hastily. After Balgruuf's death, his personal mage; Farengar, departed Whiterun and started a self-proclaimed pilgrimage south to Valenwood. Irileth and Frothar's uncle Hrognar were the only remaining members of his father's inner circle.

Frothar's sister Dagny had also moved on as well since the Civil War, she had married the son of a high ranking Stormcloak and moved to their estate south of Riverwood in the forests overlooking the lake. Nelkir; however, remained at his half-brother's side as an advisor. While they did not get along in their youths, the two had grown quite close.

Today, a scout from Whiterun's garrison in Riverwood stood before him in Dragonsreach. The lad was rather short to be a scout, maybe five feet and nine inches. His hair was long but well kept and a deep auburn color, a strand of hair on his temple was braided and promenant. A traditional look of Nords from eastern Skyrim. His face had a weak attempt at facial hair, showing his age to be under twenty years but at least above fifteen.

He was out of breath and his hands were shaking. Similar to the day that the Dragonborn came storming into Dragonsreach with news of the destruction of Helgen and the imminent danger that was presented upon Riverwood.

"Care to repeat what you told me, boy?" said Commander Sinmir.

Commander Sinmir had been captain of Whiterun's guard for decades, even before Frothar was born. If there was anyone that garnered respect from the jarl, it was him.

The scout gathered his thoughts and spoke. "I was making a routine patrol of the woods and I spied four men deep in the woods. They had the markings of the Imperial Legion."

"The Legion has returned to Skyrim? Curious." Nelkir said. "I would have suspected that they'd learned their lesson after General Tullius' execution."

The scout spoke up. "Jarl, if I may, I've heard rumors from the south of an Imperial force gathering to the south near Cloud Ruler Temple led by a survivor of the Civil War, they call him Bayleon Charteris."

Sinmir grunted. "Charteris was a field commander during the War. His men were massacred in the streets of Solitude, but it was believed he was not among the dead, but fled the city via the cistern. It is not unlikely that he's returned with support from Emperor Titus Mede III."Hrognar, from his seat in the corner scoffed. "Mede is a puppet. And the ones holding the strings are the Thalmor. This is their doing."

Frothar spoke up for the first time in a while. "We have no proof of that just yet. But let us remain on alert. Scout, what is your name?"

The young man's eyes widened, then he cleared his throat. "Istanir, Jarl." he said with a slight bow.

Frothar leaned forward in his chair. "I want you to travel to Falkreath and tell Jarl Dengeir to keep a watchful eye on the southern borders for us, we cannot be too careful."

Istanir nodded. "It will be done, my lord."

Frothar smiled. "Good, then the matter is settled for now."

/

 **4E 218,** **13th of Morning's Star**

 **Solitude, Province of Skyrim**

Hadvar stood down the street from the Blue Palace, the look of true sadness and disdain for his surroundings; if they had been noticed, might've given him away as an Imperial spy. Thankfully, they were not. A few days ago, General Bayleon ordered him to seek transport across the border via a hay cart, then hitch a ride with a group of lumberjacks to Dragon Bridge, from there, Hadvar walked all the way to Solitude and made it there in the allotted amount of time. Only the occasional wolf stood in his path.

His mission was rather simple. Remain in Solitude for the duration of Bayleon's invasion and report on the going's on. Troop movement, morale, the people's happiness, and the welfare of the High King. His informant was coincidentally a fellow former resident of Riverwood, the Bosmer Faendal. Hadvar had to clue as to how the usually reserved Faendal came into the Legion's service, but nonetheless, he was there.

Hadvar rounded a turn down a Solitude alleyway and there, dressed in a long dark brown hood and cape was Faendal. He was recognizable with the bow strapped to his back and twin daggers at his hips.

Faendal turned to Hadvar and smiled under his hood. "It's been some time, old friend." he said, removing the hood.

Hadvar returned the smile and they grasped each other's forearms in greeting. "Too long. What is the new development in Solitude that warrants me being here."

"Well, it's nothing that is a problem of Bayleon's in the short term, but rather the long term. It appears Elisif has had a son."

Hadvar felt his fists clench as he heard her name. She was the widow of High King Torygg before he was Shouted to pieces by Ulfric Stormcloak. She remained loyal to the Empire for a time but after their victory, she used herself as a bargaining chip and married Ulfric. Once a beacon of Imperial loyalty, she was now a reminder of Stormcloak corruption.

"They been trying for almost two decades now, how is it she can still bear children?" Hadvar asked after his emotions calmed.

Faendal sat down on a bench and Hadvar sat beside him. "When Torygg was killed, she was only 14. Ulfric's first daughter wasn't born until 208, seven years later. It's fair to assume Elisif is still able to bear children. Despite this boy being her sixth."

Hadvar rubbed the stubble on his chin. "We must consider every angle. Find out more on this Son of Ulfric. We must be sure that he is legitimate before Bayleon hears of it."

Faendal nodded. "That would be wise." he said before his thoughts trailed off and the two Imperial agents were left in silence.

Finally Hadvar spoke up. "Why do you work for the Empire, Faendal? Back in Riverwood, you were just the quiet mill worker."

Faendal sighed. "When was the last time you were in Riverwood, Hadvar?"

"I was there only a few days ago, but… I had no time to stay and catch up. Why?"

Faendal's eyes dropped to the stones at his feet. "Ten years ago, a young man dressed in a Stormcloak uniform stumbled into Riverwood, bleeding and could barely walk. Hod, Gerdur, Alvor, and I tried to hide him but in a matter of days, a small force of Stormcloaks came for him."

Hadvar was invested in every syllable that came from Faendal's mouth. "What happened?"

"They claimed the man was a deserter on the run and that sheltering a traitor to the Stormcloaks was punishable by death. They found him under Alvor's bed. Alvor and Hod took sole responsibility… They hung them from the village walls."

Hadvar was visibly shaken up by the revelation that his uncle and Hod were dead. "What of Gerdur and Sigrid? Frodnar and Dorthe?"

Faendal smiled. "Don't worry. They're fine, I've managed to keep in touch with them. They're in Whiterun living with Camilla and…" his words trailed off.

"And?"

"...Sven. Bastard is second in command of the Whiterun guard. Answers directly to the Thane."

Hadvar put a hand on Faendal's shoulder. "His time will come, old friend. Trust me."


	2. Chapter 2

Skyrim: Dragonborn Returns

 **4E 218, 14th of Morning's Star**

 **Falkreath Hold, Province of Skyrim**

Istanir knew the sojourn from Whiterun wasn't particularly long but just fraught with several dangers. Bandits roamed the roads, pillaging all who came across them and packs of wolves prowled through the dense thicket and amongst the tall pine trees.

Despite the imminent danger awaiting Istanir around every turn, he felt oddly at home in the wilderness. He had grown up in on a farm in the Pale Hold. He and his father would venture out into the birch forests in search of rabbits and on occasion, dear. As Istanir got older; and his father more frail, he began going at it alone. On several occasions, he found himself running through the woods at breakneck speeds from bears and even a spriggan at one time.

Once he turned seventeen, he packed his things and left home. Bound for Winterhold to join the Army of Skyrim. It was what people had taken to calling the Stormcloaks after their victory of the Imperial Legion.

He served at Fort Dunstad for three months before being transferred into another unit in need of an experienced scout. From there, he spent another six months in the Reach, lying amongst the rocks, scouting Forsworn camps for the Army of Skyrim. It was during this time, he had heard his father had died. He again transferred, this time to Riverwood's garrison where he encountered the Imperial soldiers.

Now here he was on the outskirts of Falkreath, looking in. It wasn't much of a city, but it had grown exponentially since the days of the Civil War. He walked quickly through Falkreath, with a purpose. He strolled into the Jarl's Longhouse and waited patiently for Dengeir to meet with him.

Dengeir was a very old man, a decade or two older than anyone else in the room. Despite this, he sat in his jarl's chair with the dignity of a much younger man. He looked at Istanir was blazing eyes and motioned him to come forward.

"You must forgive me, my eyesight is not what it was." said Jarl Dengeir in a gravely, shaky voice. "I am Dengeir of Stuhn, Jarl of Falkreath. You are?"

"Istanir; Jarl, I come from Whiterun to tell you of Imperial activity in our lands. Jarl Frothar has asked that you contribute soldiers in the possibility of a second war between Skyrim and the Empire."

Dengeir contemplated the young man's words for a moment before making his calculated reply. "I owe Frothar several debts of gratitude for all he and his people have done for me and mine, but-" his words were cut short by the sound of a loud crash outside, followed by screams.

A guard burst through the doors. Nearly falling over, he managed to shout one word in a great panic.

"Attack!"

Dengeir; as if he were Istanir's age, leapt from his chair and withdrew a greatsword from it's sheath beside his chair. "You'll have your war sooner than expected, boy. Come with us." He charged out of the longhouse.

Istanir drew his own steel sword and followed suit. Outside, he could see where the attack was coming from. The loud crash was the result of catapults being fired down upon the city from the cliffs above. All of the Falkreath guards, as well as everyday commoners rushed towards the city gates. Istanir moved cautiously with a crowd of people and could see a substantial force coming down the road in the direction of Pale Pass.

A catapult's blast fell directly into the group of civilians rushing out to meet the Imperials. Istanir was blasted aside into a small alleyway. His sword had been knocked from his hands and he could see it being trampled into the mud by fleeing people and pursuing soldiers. Istanir felt himself unable to move, pinned under a pile of debris from a nearby house.

A man on horseback road past, he turned his head towards the alleyway and came eye to eye with Istanir. Istanir saw the man reach for his sword before hesitating. He thought better of it and continued on his way. Istanir gave a sigh of relief, then attempted to lift the debris off himself.

"Istanir!" he heard a familiar voice call.

Dengeir came up from the other end of the alley and crouched beside Istanir. He put two hands on a few of the logs and almost effortlessly pushed them aside. Istanir crawled out from under them and leaned up against a wall to rest.

"You must return to Whiterun alive. Tell Jarl Frothar, he'll have his men but I am staying in Falkreath. It is lost, but my men are not."

Istanir nodded and got up to run but Dengeir grabbed his arm and held him back. "Also, go to the manor overlooking the lake. Northeast of here, if we're to win, we'll need him."

"Who!?" Istanir exclaimed.

Dengeir simply smiled. "You'll know."

Istanir didn't question it, he got up and ran for the city gates. He had to step over the dead as he went, the streets were running with a river of blood as the onslaught continued. Dengeir also got up and walked out calmly into the streets, his greatsword in hand. There in the street sat the man on horseback, peering at him through dark eyes.

"Jarl Dengeir. It is an honor." he said smoothly.

Dengeir stood up straight. "Likewise… General Charteris. Your exploits in Cyrodiil reach me night and day."

Bayleon smiled and dismounted his horse. "Then you know a message when you see one?"

"I do."

"Good. However, it isn't the only message I shall send. On your knees." Bayleon growled.

Dengeir looked at his surroundings, his city in ruins, dozens slaughtered, and now surrounded by Imperial troops. However, the old man failed to falter.

"Charteris, if you think I will do so willingly, you're mistaken."

"...Nords." Bayleon said before giving his hand a wave.

An arrow whistled from somewhere in the crowd and burrowed itself in Dengeir's knee. He fell down on his good knee with a scream of pain. Bayleon walked over to him, sword drawn.

"That's better."

Bayleon brought his sword back behind his head and swung in a downward motion. Dengeir's neck was cleaved through cleanly and the freshly severed head spun in the air before falling to the cobble. The body slumped forward, not even falling over completely, as if defying the Imperial to the very end.

Bayleon picked up the head by it's hair. "I want the body placed on a horse and sent to Whiterun." he said as he stared into it's eyes.

A few soldiers came over and picked up the body. Another one came up beside Bayleon. "And the head?"

He thought for a moment. "Nail it to the body."

/

 **4E 218, 14th of Morning's Star**

 **Lake Ilinalta, Province of Skyrim**

As Istanir ran, he began to realize that he wasn't feeling quite right. Eventually, he reached under he cuirass and realized that a part of the log that had crushed him had splintered off into his abdomen and was bleeding profusely. He didn't pay much mind at first, but by the time he reached the lake Dengeir had talked about, he was extremely light headed and pale.

Istanir burst through the thicket and came mere inches away from falling off a small shear cliff that led to the lake below. In the distance, Istanir's blurry vision caught sight of lights from a large house to the east. The wound on his stomach spiked in pain and Istanir lost consciousness while he stood on the edge of the cliff. He plummeted over and splashed into the water below.

He awoke what seemed like a few minutes or hours later to the sound of someone shouting. Extremely loud shouting. Louder than normal. Then someone spoke plainly.

"How do you do that?!" someone exclaimed.

There was a laugh. "Practice, son. Some are born with it… Others learn. Watch closely, and cover your ears."

Istanir heard it again. " _Fus Ro Dah!"_

The water around him rippled and he heard a mighty splash, then a cry of laughter.

"Now you." the voice said.

"Fus Ro Dah!" Came the other voice, but the effect wasn't there.

The older one laughed. "You have time to… By the Nine, there's someone in the water. Help me get him out."

Istanir heard someone dive into the water, then he felt a pair of arms grab him around his chest and pull him back to shore. He still couldn't see anything.

"He's wounded, Father." said the young one.

"Fetch Tralle. She'll know what to do!"

Istanir heard feet run up a dirt path away from the shoreline.

"Hold on, friend. Help is on the way."

/

Istanir awoke again, this time under different circumstances. He was in a bed and covered in furs and he could see again. A few people were standing over him and a woman was mixing something in a pestle and mortar.

The same voice he heard in the lake spoke. "Tralle, he's awake. Look."

"How are you feeling?" the woman Istanir assumed was Tralle said.

"Uhhh…" Istanir managed to say.

"Can he sit up?"

Tralle looked back at the big man. "Would you let me work, Father?"

Jodrik nodded and took a step back. Tralle turned her attention back to Istanir. "What is your name?"

"Istanir…"

"Why were you in the lake?"

"...Battle."

Jodrik spoke up again. "That explains the smoke I saw on the horizon."

"...Falkreath, must warn Frothar…"

"Jarl Frothar?" Tralle said.

"...Imperial attack…"

Istanir lost it again and fell into blackness once more.

When he awoke, he was left alone in the room and all the candles and fixtures of light were put out, the door had also been closed. He moved his hands across his chest and found himself wrapped heavily in bandage. The wound had been worse than he thought.

Istanir struggled out of the bed and managed to get the door open. There was the tall man he'd seen and heard before, the one they called Jodrik.

Jodrik had a broad build with long dark brown hair and beard with grey hairs slowly making their way through it as he aged. He appeared to be maybe in his fourth decade and across his right cheek was a tattoo of a blue swirling serpent. His eyes were a piercing steel grey, with the left eye having a noticeable streak of gold running through the iris.

Jodrik was definitely an intimidating person by sight, but the first thing he did was smile when he saw Istanir. "You're up, that means you're not dead." he said as he turned back down the hallway.

"Where…?"

"Lakeview Manor. My son and I fished you out of the lake. You're welcome." Jodrik said as he descended a flight of stairs, waving his hand above his head, beckoning Istanir to follow.

Istanir walked down the steps and was met by a group of people. They wore clothing that seemed fine but definitely made by them for them. Jodrik joined the people and introduced them.

"These are my four sons: the eldest; Samuel, Ubbe, Sigisk, and the youngest, Olann." all of Jodrik's sons nodded. They all shared Jodrik's eyes, apart from Samuel who curiously possessed none of the family features. Ubbe was Istanir's age and Sigisk and Olann were probably two and five years younger than him.

"My three daughters: Lucia, Thorunn, and Tralle." Again, Istanir noted that Lucia shared no resemblance to her Nordic siblings. Instead, both Samuel and Lucia resembled that of Imperials. Tralle and Istanir's eyes met and he not only recognized the woman who treated him but a hint of flirtation as she smiled at him and batted her eye slightly. Admittedly, she was beautiful, with Jodrik's hair but his eyes and tan skin from days in the sun.

More people came forward. Jodrik continued to name them off. "My daughters in law, Dagny and Eslaug. The wives of Samuel and Ubbe. Dagny is the sister of Jarl Frothar and Eslaug is the granddaughter of the late Jarl Skald."

And finally, two young children and another woman with hair like fire came up beside Jodrik. "These are Samuel's sons, Ralof and Villem. And finally my wife, Ysolda."

Ysolda was the same impressive height as her husband. Her eyes were a dark brown and her skin was fair.

All in all, it was a large but close-knit family. Istanir wasn't sure how all of them lived in one manor, even if the manor was quite sizeable.

Jodrik turned back to Istanir. "You and I must speak at length, but later. For now, feel free to walk the grounds."

/

 **4E 218, 14th of Morning's Star**

 **Solitude, Province of Skyrim**

Hadvar had been in Solitude for maybe a day and already the rumors of Imperial troops in Skyrim's southern regions had reached the northwest. It was becoming a growing concern, but judging by the many public trials Hadvar had attended in order to get eyes on the Usurper, it wasn't a grave matter to Ulfric.

In the years after the Civil War, Ulfric Stormcloak now had a nocked arrow and nothing to shoot. Constantly on edge and ready to fight, just never the right reason to. As a result, Ulfric had a demeanor of a bored schoolboy and more often than not wasn't paying attention to anything anyone excent Lady Elisif said to him.

Even Elisif wasn't present much in the public parts of the Blue Palace due to her insistence of being the only person to wet nurse the new Prince of Skyrim and it was up to a handful of guards to keep the princesses away from the public eye until they had found a diplomatic suitor.

It was true, Hadvar didn't have a taste for espionage but indulged in it's ways all the same. Faendal had long since adopted the tactics since an elf wouldn't truly be able to walk the streets of Solitude unabated and so used a series of tunnels from the time of High King Istlod.

Hadvar's task at the moment was attend another blasted hearing and report back to Faendal so he in turn could write down the information and send it off with a courier loyal to the Imperials down to the Reach where Legate Evodius had made his war camp nestled deep in the forests disguised as a hunting camp. No insignia, no uniforms. Just in case a wanderer stumbled into their camp.

Hadvar stood among a crowd of people as they listened to a farmer speak about how his neighbor had gone into his fields and salted the earth, making it impossible to grow any crops.

Ulfric considered the farmer's words. "What is it that you plant?"

The farmer stuttered. "Cabbage, carrots, beans. Your Highness."

Ulfric leaned forward slightly, the most interest he'd shown all day. "Cabbage, carrots, and beans are not in season. Remember, I led a war effort. I know when things are planted and when they are not. Your neighbor is not your problem, it is your incompetence."

The farmer nodded and wordlessly left the Palace at a brisk pace. Hadvar couldn't help but smile at the look of utter terror on the farmer's face.

"Is that everything?" Ulfric said.

Ulfric's advisor Falk Firebeard scanned a detailed list on a scroll before replying. "That is all for today, Your Highness."

Ulfric stood up from his throne. "Then I will retire. I leave you in control of the floor, Falk."

Firebeard nodded. "Thank you, Your Highness."

Despite Falk Firebeard appearing to possess loyalty and servitude to Stormcloak, Hadvar knew that he was the steward when Elisif was in power under General Tullius and thus held a certain resentment towards Ulfric. Though, he was unable to do anything about it as he had no training as a combatant and was essentially a paid prisoner.

Hadvar followed the crowd of people out of the Blue Palace and back into the streets of Solitude. It was dusk and the cool breeze from the mountains was setting in. People were quickly making their way to their homes for the night. Hadvar walked down the cobbled streets towards where was was staying. The tavern known as the Winking Skeever, the owner owed a few favors to Faendal and the discrete room and board was Faendal's way of cashing them in.

Suddenly, Hadvar felt a knife slip across his throat and a pair of hands drag him into an alleyway. They threw a sack over his head and he felt his arms being bound and dragged into a building. Hadvar was sat down on a chair and the hood was removed.There in front of him was another familiar face from Riverwood. Ralof, the man he had quarrelled with in his youth. His once blonde hair had turned almost completely grey but his strength hadn't left him yet as he easily held Hadvar down on the chair.

"What are you doing here, Hadvar?" Ralof hissed.

Hadvar grunted as he tried to wriggle from the chair. "Likewise, Stormcloak."

"I have a duty! You lost the war, go back to Cyrodiil where you belong!" Ralof replied.

Hadvar stopped struggling and calmed himself down. "Who else is with you?"

None other than Sven came from the darkness dressed in a dark cloak and hood.

"Sven?" Hadvar chuckled. "I was told you were given the position of captain of the guard in Whiterun."

Sven laughed. "I was kicked out less than a year in. Caught me stealing sweet rolls."

"Sven." Ralof hissed. Sven chuckled before moving across the room to the window as a lookout.

Ralof turned to back to Hadvar. "Look, I know you're here to spy on Ulfric for the Empire, there's no hiding that. We also know that you're working with someone else, we just don't know who."

Hadvar blinked. "Who are you two working for? Why is a disgruntled rebel and a bard with the voice of troll protecting Ulfric?"

Ralof sighed. "Out of respect, we're operating under Galmar Stone-Fist. Turns out, you were recognized the moment you set foot in Haafingar."

Hadvar sighed. "Since it appears I am your prisoner for the time being. "I'm working for Imperial Legate Evodius. I've been sending him information on Ulfric's state."

"And the state of his heir, I assume?" Ralof said.

Hadvar nodded.

"Hmm. Curious."

Suddenly, Sven piped up from his lookout position. "Incoming!"

The door swung open and Faendal burst through with both his daggers drawn, he didn't expect to see two other people from his youth standing there with his partner bound to a chair.

Sven grinned. "Faendal?"

Faendal's eyes narrowed on Sven. "Sven!" he screamed.

Faendal lunged towards Sven but was caught from behind by Ralof. Ralof tossed Faendal over his hip and he slammed into the wood flooring. Hadvar reached out and kicked Ralof in the face and Faendal tossed a dagger to Hadvar. As Ralof and Faendal grappled on the ground, Hadvar sawed his way out of his restraints.

"Don't make me hurt you, Faendal!" Sven shouted from the other side of the room.

Ralof grunted in frustration as he easily pinned the Bosmer to the floor, not realizing Hadvar was free. Hadvar wrapped his arms around Ralof's neck in a chokehold and the two also fell to the floor. Sven ran forward and kicked Faendal's other dagger away from him and held the point of his shortsword to his neck.

Hadvar overpowered Ralof and punched him clean in the jaw, leaving him winded and out of the fight for the time being. He took Ralof's weapon and held it to Sven's neck as he, Sven, and Faendal were left in a standoff.

"So…" Sven said. "How's everyone been?"

Hadvar had to smile. "Could be better."

Suddenly, a third force interrupted the fight. A handful of Solitude guards were outside the building with their weapons at the ready.

"Faendal, get up." Hadvar said.

Faendal got up and the two of the ran out the back door of the building with a few of the guards in pursuit. Sven had to convince the rest of the guards that they were working with Galmar Stone-Fist.

Hadvar and Faendal scaled the wall with the Karth River far below them. Soon, they found themselves cornered with nowhere to go as more guards came from the nearby watchtower.

"Jump." Faendal said softly.

Hadvar looked at him in disbelief. "What?"

"Jump. Now."

Hadvar did what he was told and jumped off the wall, he could see Faendal following him off but instead, he had a crossbow bolt protruding from his side. He'd been hit and was now free falling to the river below.


	3. Chapter 3

Skyrim: Dragonborn Returns

 **4E 218, 17th of Morning's Star**

 **Town of Helgen, Province of Skyrim**

Bayleon Charteris sat at the desk he had taken over for himself at the top of the Helgen Keep. The town had remained rather small since it's decimation at the hands of the Dragon Alduin but it was substantial enough to support at least a small percentage of his army. The townsfolk were not warriors and they had no Hold Guards left in Falkreath as the rest of them had been hunted down and slaughtered.

Now, Helgen was a staging ground for Charteris' war effort. The perfect crossroad. To the East, the Pale, the West, the Reach, and to the north, Whiterun. Charteris surmised that the conquering of Whiterun would be the most difficult and therefore top priority.

The map of Skyrim was laid out across his oak table, the large portion of the Falkreath hold that had been taken was already outlined by dark ink with small Imperial banners representing troop movement. Small Stormcloak banners represented the movement in the north reported by his spies in Solitude and Winterhold.

There was a knock at the door. Bayleon's concentration was frustratingly shattered. "Come in." he said, rather annoyed by the interruption.

In came a courier holding a scroll that was bound tightly by a golden ribbon. Bayleon knew what that meant. Without a word, he nodded and took the scroll. The courier promptly left and shut the door as quietly as possible.

Bayleon took a moment to examine the scroll. Fine parchment, a golden ribbon. Only a scroll sent by a member of the Aldmeri Dominion would be bound by a gold ribbon. He opened the scroll and read it.

 _General Charteris,_

 _You are hereby summoned on this day, 15th of Morning's Star, 218th year of the Fourth Era to appear before a representative of the Aldmeri Dominion and the Gilded Armies in Bruma in one fortnight's time to discuss the assistance and military access of and to Commander Velos Straetandil. This is not an inquiry but an order of the utmost importance. Failure to appear at this meeting is not an option._

 _Deepest respects,_

 _Ondolemar, Head of the Justiciars_

Bayleon stared at the words. The Aldmeri want to negotiate military assistance for the invasion of Skyrim. He knew how they operated, he spent most of his tenure as an Imperial soldier being ordered around by members of the Thalmor. He knew that if they helped him seize Skyrim, they'd demand it be handed over to them as recompense. A new strategy was needed to take on the Thalmor.

Bayleon just didn't know what that strategy was.

/

 **4E 218, 19th of Morning's Star**

 **Whiterun Hold, Province of Skyrim**

Jarl Frothar had become increasingly concerned with the growing reports of Imperial activity. The largest of which being an entire town's worth of people saying Falkreath and Helgen had been conquered by an Imperial force. In response, Frothar organized a small army of Hold guards and soldiers of the Army of Skyrim to guard the narrow pass between Helgen and Whiterun.

If the reports were to be believed, the Imperials were 12,000 men strong. He and his force were a mere 954, the balance of power was not on their side. But strategy was. Archers had been placed all along the dense woods surrounding the only trodden path in hopes of thinning out the Imperial Legion prior to them even reaching Riverwood. Other traps had been set along the way.

Frothar was aware that he wasn't experienced in the art of guerilla tactics but Commander Sinmir and Lieutenant Soljar; the commanding officer of the Army's forces in Whiterun had some experience between them.

Soljar was relatively young, he'd been born during the Civil War in Windhelm and orphaned as a result of the War. He joined the Army after their victory over the Empire and rose through the ranks to lieutenant and then was assigned by Galmar Stone-Fist as leader of their forces based in Whiterun.

Frothar's forces had gathered and made camp a few miles outside of the walls. They had only a few cavalry men and one catapult, the rest were infantry.

Frothar entered his command tent and there, sitting in the corner reading, was his half-brother Nelkir. Nelkir had never had a taste for battle but it was an unusual time and he'd personally volunteered to fight and advise his brother in the battle to come.

Frothar sat down next to him, Nelkir took notice of his presence as he looked up from his book. "Jarl, how goes it?"

Frothar replied simply. "As well as can be expected. What news?"

Nelkir put the book down and got up. "Scouting report says the Imperials have yet to move from Helgen. I advise possibly changing positions. If we take the fight to them, then we might have a clearer advantage than waiting for them to make the first move."

Frothar shook his head. "I cannot risk it, we have to little men for that kind of assault."

Nelkir considered Frothar's words. "I see."

Frothar put a hand on Nelkir's shoulder. "You know why I ask your advice? Because your word is the only one I've ever trusted. Since Father left us, and then Proventus, a great deal of responsibility has been placed on our shoulders."

Nelkir nodded. "And as usual, Dagny ran from hers."

Frothar realized, Dagny was with her husband in the Falkreath Hold and subsequently closer to the Imperial forces. But he didn't have time to worry about her.

"Right." he said. "You know I would lay down my life in defense of Skyrim, but I'd also lay it down for you."

For the first time in what seemed like years, Nelkir smiled and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You have my word, brother. Whiterun will not fall."

/

 **4E 218, 19th of Morning's Star**

 **Imperial Controlled Falkreath Hold, Province of Skyrim**

"So." Jodrik said finally after a long, drawn out silence. "You want me to join a war I won 17 years ago?"

Istanir grimaced at the reality as well as the irony of his situation and the possible task of convincing this man of rejoining the Army of Skyrim.

"I don't expect you to be eager, but we're desperate and underprepared for the kind of threat Skyrim is faced with. If your old friends are to be believed, we need someone like you."

Jodrik turned to look at the young man. "Did they tell you who I really am?"

Istanir's expression was blank. Jodrik chuckled. "Guess not."

He turned towards the treeline and dug his heels into the dirt. " _Fus…"_

"What in the Eig-?"

" _Ro dah!"_ Jodrik shouted and a shockwave emitted from his mouth and trees in front of him snapped in half like twigs and the dirt and roots unturned and blew in several different directions.

Istanir covered his ear but he wasn't quick enough. The force from Jodrik's shout popped his ears and gave them a high pitched ringing.

Jodrik laughed. "That was about half effort."

Istanir was now sitting on the ground, groaning and holding his ears. Jodrik knelt in front of him, still smiling. "You need help? Alright. I'll do it. But I need to retrieve some things first."

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 **4E 218, 21st of Morning's Star**

 **Abandoned Subterranean Prison, Rift**

Inside their rather large but still confined cell, the two Khajiit cousins tried to entertain themselves in any way they could. The older one practiced his spells while the younger one clambered around on the ceiling, digging his prosthetic claws into the stone. His real claws had been taken off when he was first captured by Rift Hold guards for breaking into some fancy house owned by the Black-Briars.

It was no big deal, he thought. Despite this, he and his accomplice; J'zargo were subsequently locked up in an abandoned prison and forgotten about.

"Maven is a bitch." Suban Sunji muttered as he hung upside down from the ceiling.

J'zargo was sitting cross legged on the stone floor with his feline eyes closed, trying desperately to ignore Suban's antics. Finally, he gave in and replied.

"J'zargo thinks there were better ways of infiltration other than the front door in the middle of the day, cousin."

Suban frowned. "Suban thinks J'zargo should go eat his tail." he said, mocking his cousin's tendency to talk in the third person.

Suddenly, there was a loud clanging noise as metal was being blasted apart by something. The stone wall behind J'zargo and Suban collapsed and two men were standing on the outside. One was older and the other was extremely young and looked like he'd seen a ghost, or someone yelling at a wall and it falling down.

"I'll never get used to that." the young man said.

J'zargo recognized the face of an old friend. It was the stubborn Nord from his time in the College. What was his name again?

"J'zargo." the old friend said.

Suban dropped down from the ceiling. "Who is this oaf, cousin?"

The name finally clicked. "Jodrik from J'zargo's youth, cousin." J'zargo turned to Jodrik and Istanir. "It is good to see a friendly face."

Jodrik and J'zargo shook hands. "Likewise. Look, there isn't much time. I need to call a few fifteen year old favors from you."

J'zargo's brow raised, as did his whiskers. "What kind of favor?"

Jodrik frowned. "The Empire wants Skyrim back, we're going to stop them. Your cousin can tag along."

Suban crossed his arms. "I do not play tag. I alway get caught."

J'zargo chuckled. "And that; Suban, is why you and J'zargo are in this dungeon. Where to next, Jodrik?"

Jodrik smiled. "Rorikstead. Through Imperial territory."

/

 **4E 218, 24th of Morning's Star**

 **Hjaalmarch Hold, Province of Skyrim**

For the first time in ten days, Hadvar awoke. The fall into the river from the walls of Solitude left him unconscious. He and an equally unconscious Faendal floated downstream into Hjaalmarch and were apparently fished out by an old woman who was once a student at the College of Winterhold named Brelyna. She studied and practically lived the School of Destruction but after a traumatic event, abandoned it and moved to Restoration. She was a Dark Elf and apparently a member of the House Telvanni.

Hadvar sat up in the rough bed and his nose was assaulted by the smell of herbs that had been blended together. Separately, they smelled nice, but together were utterly horrible. Brelyna sat in the corner, humming to herself.

"Good morning." She said. "Nice to see you're finally up."

Hadvar groaned as he threw his legs of the bed in an attempt to stand. He was groggy and nearly every joint popped, but he could stand.

"Where am I?"

Brelyna smiled. "My home in Hjaalmarch near Solitude. It is a little shabby but it ought to be comfortable enough for your recovery."

"Recovery?"

"Oh, you still have a lot of internal bleeding, friend. Not as a bad as the other man you were with but…"

Hadvar cut her off. "Other man?"

"The Wood Elf, he's outside."

Hadvar looked out one of the windows to see Faendal sitting on a log staring out across the marchlands. He could only see Faendal's backside, but his body language was sullen and sad. Hadvar went out and sat beside him. He didn't even look up.

"Is is over?" Faendal said after several seconds.

"What do you mean?" Hadvar replied

"All of this. It has to be."

"What are you rambling on about?"

Faendal looked down at his legs, which were sprawled out in front of him. "According to Brelyna, not only do I have serious internal wounds, but it's unlikely my legs will ever work again."

"You're-?"

"Paralyzed, crushed my spine in the fall. Gods, I am so stupid."

"We had no other choice."

"Imprisonment and chance of escape or permanent inability to walk for the rest of my life? I should never have jumped. At least you turned out fine." he said in a grave tone.

Hadvar was taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Faendal looked at him with a look that could've paralyzed Hadvar as well. "Just go. Get healed and rejoin the fight. I'm staying."

Hadvar hesitated, but in the end he got up from the log and walked back to the cabin. Suddenly, Faendal's voice rang out again.

"I lied to you in Solitude by the way."

Hadvar turned back but didn't say anything.

Faendal continued. "I guess I was lying to myself really. Didn't truly want to hear myself say it out loud but… It was lying all the same."

"What did you lie about?"

"About Gerdur and Sigrid, Frodnar and Dorthe… They didn't go to Whiterun."

Now Hadvar was invested. "Where then?"

"...They were strung up with Hod and Alvor."

Hadvar didn't reply, somehow he expected Faendal to say something like that. He was stricken with grief and was rambling. But Hadvar had other things to worry about. He walked back inside the cabin to meet Brelyna again.

She smiled at him sympathetically as she stirred a pot of stew over an open fire. "The realization is difficult, but he will come around."

Hadvar sat back down on the bed he'd woken up in. "Thank you, for everything. But I must be leaving soon."

Brelyna again looked from the stew to Hadvar. "I wouldn't advise it, but you are not a prisoner. You may go if you wish, but try to fall into any more rivers." she said with a smile.

Hadvar smiled too. "Take care of him."

"He is Mer like me. I will care for him like a brother. But, where will you go?"

Hadvar thought a moment. "I am needed elsewhere."


	4. Chapter 4

Skyrim: Dragonborn Returns

 **4E 218, 1st of Sun's Dawn**

 **Imperial Controlled Falkreath Hold, Province of Skyrim**

For Samuel, it had been a slow day. He woke up at the crack of dawn like he'd alway done and gone to work maintaining the livestock kept at the Lakeview Manor. Samuel remembered when he came to live at the Manor. It was big then but in the past 17 years it had gotten exponentially bigger as more people were added to the family. Now, there were outbuildings, a barn, apiaries, pens, and stables.

It was more or less an unrecognized town of it's own but only one family as it's occupants. Now, the Hold they resided in was under Imperial control and had been for several weeks. The location of the Manor was no secret and Samuel watched as Imperial soldiers marched by the Manor, they gave him simple nods. He was grateful to be of Imperial descent because the soldiers paid him no mind.

But, if they did decide to take their chances in raiding the Manor, Samuel was prepared. He, Ubbe, Lucia, and Sigisk had all been trained to fight by their father, who was arguably one of the greatest warriors in Skyrim's history. Up there with Ysgramor and the Companions. So, Samuel was confident in their ability to defend the Manor, should the need arise.

The day finally came when they needed to. Samuel was out doing his daily routine when from down the road he spied a group of Imperial soldiers coming up to the Manor. As a precaution, Samuel dropped what he was doing and quickly retrieved a sword from inside and hid it under his cloak.

There were only four of them. The one Samuel assumed was the leader was tall and wore a heavy set of Imperial armor. His helmet covered most of his face and a red plume stretched down the length of his head.

"Are you the keeper of this property?" the leader asked in a gruff tone.

Samuel stood up straight, the grip on the hilt of his sword tightened under his cloak. "Who's asking?"

The Imperial removed his helmet to reveal an all things considered, decent looking face with black hair that was cut short. A tradition of Imperials identifying as Colovian. By contrast, Samuel's hair was similarly dark but long and unrestricted by hair ties, keeping with his Nibenese heritage.

"Legate Evodius. Acting Commander of the Second Imperial Legion of Skyrim. My scouts report to me that this homestead is in possession of vital resources. Enough to feed my men for another month. We've come to negotiate for some of your supplies."

Samuel squared his shoulders defiantly. "And if I refuse?"

Legate Evodius cleared his throat. "You don't want to do that." he said.

"Look, sir. I do not own this estate, it is my father's." Samuel replied.

"And where might I find him?" Evodius asked, taking a step towards the Manor.

Samuel took a broad step and ended up between the Legate and the house. "He's away on errands, possibly for another week, sir."

Evodius glanced at his compatriots and cocked his head at the house, then he looked back at Samuel. "This is no longer a negotiation. You will hand over every little scrap of food, wine, and coin you have in that house along with anything else you might be hiding in there."

Legate Evodius looked up at a window and saw one of the women looked down at him. When she saw that he noticed her, she ran from the window.

"Continue to resist and I assure you, they will be harmed." he said.

Samuel shoved the large man away and withdrew his sword. One of the soldiers came at him from his flank but Samuel parried and slashed across his lightly armored chest, the sword pierced the chainmail and cut about an inch into the man's sternum. He screeched in pain.

The other two advanced with their weapons draw and Samuel rushed to meet them, he bashed one into the dirt with his shoulder and knocked the other over the head with the pommel of his sword.

The first man came back for more and attempted to tackle Samuel to the ground, but he spun out of the way and he went sprawling on top of his friend, still laying on the ground. Evodius watched from a distance, somewhat entertained.

All three soldiers got their bearing and prepared for attack. One came forward first but was swiftly cut down and killed. Before the other two could react, Samuel placed both hands on the hilt and hoisted it over his head. In the next motion he threw it straight into another man's chest.

The last soldier, still reacting to his comrade's death didn't move in time to be tackled to the ground by Samuel. The dagger was taken from his belt and thrust into his neck. Blood spurt from his mouth and he began choking on it. In a matter of moments, he was dead.

Samuel stood up and looked away from his kills a moment before he himself was ran through with a greatsword and lifted into the air. He screamed in agony as Legate Evodius stared up at him. Samuel's blood dripped down onto his face as the monster smiled.

He was let back down and his barely alive body slid of the blade, leaving the polished steel red. Out from behind the house, Samuel could see through his blurring vision that his family had already taken the liberty of fleeing the house via a back exit.

He'd bought them time, now they needed to act on it. Legate Evodius stood over him triumphantly.

"You fought well, Niben. I allow you to die with that knowledge."

Samuel's life slipped away as more soldiers came up the road and ransacked his family home. And when they were done, they burned it to the ground. The Imperials left Samuel's lifeless body out in the dirt as they departed from the property.

/

 **4E 218, 2nd of Sun's Dawn**

 **City of Bruma, Province of Cyrodiil**

General Bayleon loathed the thought of the meeting he was being forced to attend. A hearing regarding his ongoing invasion of Skyrim that they had pulled him from with a representative from the Gilded Armies of the Third Aldmeri Dominion and the Thalmor. As well as the Count of Bruma being present for the meeting.

Bayleon entered Castle Bruma with his entourage of Imperial soldiers. He entered the throne room and there sat Count Daiiar Carvain, the current ruler of Bruma. A middle aged descendent of Countess Narina Carvain and a lifelong supporter of Imperial occupation and possible annexation of Skyrim.

Beside the Count was a tall Altmer, identifiable by his towering height, but also his trademark yellow skin, hair, and pointed ears. Bayleon was surprised by his presence, because this was not some representative but the leader of the Gilded Armies himself, Velos Straetandil.

Straetandil was broad and muscular for a Mer and was dressed from neck to toe in Elven armor. His long hair tumbled loosely across his shoulders.

"General Bayleon, it's a pleasure to see you again." said Carvain.

"You as well, Count." Bayleon said with a slight bow before turning his attention to the evidently bored Altmer.

Straetandil spoke first. "You know why I am here, General?"

"To negotiate my military access to your forces in order to trample the resisting Skyrim forces."

"Yes, I've heard that you've encountered resistance. Nords with pitchforks and table knives." Straetandil said mockingly.

Bayleon shook his head. "The Nords have an organized and well trained military, commander. They are not to be underestimated."

"I have underestimated nothing, General Bayleon. In fact, I've overestimated. You. And the reported ability of your Legion."

Bayleon felt his blood begin to boil, how dare this Elf insult his men and have no repercussion. He was beginning to resent the White-Gold Concordat more and more every moment Straetandil and him were in the same room.

"I digress. I've decided that you will not be receiving any support from my armies or any army carrying the banner of the Aldmeri Dominion."

Bayleon frowned. "But I assume you want a cut of the profit once the conflict is over." he muttered.

"What was that, General?" Straetandil asked, taking a step towards Bayleon.

Bayleon closed the gap between them and stood chest to chest with the Elf. "I said, I don't answer to some damned Elf!" he exclaimed.

Straetandil remained calm and collected. "You'd be wise to choose your next words very, very carefully, General." he hissed.

Bayleon smiled up at Straetandil. "Everyone in this room knows that if the Great War had lasted another 6 months, your people would have lost dearly. You were running out of options, surrounded on all sides by brave Imperial troops. It's only because of our misguided leadership that we signed that damn Concordat."

Straetandil came in very close and whispered into Bayleon's ear. "Do you worship Talos, General?" he asked, practically begging Bayleon to give him a reason to run him through where he stood.

Count Carvain finally intervened. "Gentlemen, that is enough!" he shouted, his words echoing throughout Castle Bruma. "Commander Straetandil has given us his answer and it is done with, I will not have bloodshed in my home!"

Straetandil backed away from Bayleon. "As you wish."

Straetandil turned on his heels and walked out of Castle Bruma, leaving Bayleon and Carvain standing in silence. Finally Carvain spoke up.

"How is my son, Charteris. Does he fare well in your Legion?" the Count asked.

Bayleon turned to the Count and smiled. "Better than we could have hoped, Count Carvain."

Carvain smiled. "That is good. Where is he now?"

Bayleon frowned. "I sadly cannot say, he is under special instructions as we speak."

"I see. You know, General, I partially blame myself for his role in your war."

"How do you figure, Count?" Bayleon replied.

"He's the youngest, he is not in line to inherit the position of Count or any position of notable stature, it makes sense that he'd want to prove himself with such a dangerous venture."

Bayleon took the Count's hand. "I promise you, Count Carvain, no harm shall befall your son."

The Count smiled weakly but still seemed unsure. The road ahead was dark and uncertain, but it was a road walked hand in hand with friends.

/

 **4E 218, 3rd of Sun's Dawn**

 **Whiterun Hold, Province of Skyrim**

Istanir, Jodrik, J'zargo, and Suban stood on a hill overlooking the humble village of Rorikstead. Founded after the Great War by two former soldiers, the village was known for bountiful harvested and profitable investments. The place seemingly flowed with good fortune.

Naturally, it was a good place for an adventurer to settle down and start a family.

"Who are we looking for?" Istanir asked as they descended the hill into Rorikstead.

Jodrik smiled. "An old friend. His name is Erik, he used to travel with me back in the day. I called him Erik the Slayer almost as a joke."

"J'zargo wants to know why the Slayer is here in Rorikstead?"

"Ten years ago, he found love. Decided to settle down back in his hometown and raise a family much like my own."

Istanir considered those words with care. He was so young the thought of settling down wasn't anywhere near a priority. But with the war on, it wasn't unnatural for some to wonder if they'd ever get the chance to settle down. It was understandably an unnerving thought, and one Istanir banished from his mind entirely.

The band walked into the center of the village and happened upon a tall man with long blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He was in his thirties, a few years younger than Jodrik but just as tall and well built.

"Jodrik… You old dog!" Erik said with a big smile as the two men embraced. "What are you doing in Rorikstead?"

Jodrik glanced around the town square. "Can we speak at your house?"

Erik led the band to his house. A quaint little cabin in the limits of Rorikstead with firm wall and a raging hearth towards the eastern side. Two beds were against the western wall. One large, meant for two. And the other was small, meant for a child. Sitting near the hearth was a woman clutching a baby in her arms. She had dark hair cut to her shoulders and dark brown eyes. Her beauty wasn't lost on Istanir.

"Lydia. We have guests."

Lydia stood up and embraced Jodrik and J'zargo like they were old friends and gave simple nods to Istanir and Suban. The baby took special interest in Suban and started grabbing at his long braided hairs with golden bands wrapped into them.

Lydia motioned something with her hand and Erik translated. "She said that she is overjoyed to see you two again."

Istanir realized that Lydia was mute. when she smiled, he saw that her tongue had been removed. By what, he could only imagine. Erik sat down at a wooden table and poured himself a drink, while he sipped, he talked.

"Why are you here, Jodrik? I see you got the crew together with a few additions. What's going on?"

Jodrik sat across from him. "You know I'd never come to you if it wasn't urgent. Skyrim is in danger and I need men I can count on."

Erik laughed quietly. "We are old men, Jodrik. I haven't fought since…" his words carried off.

Jodrik placed a hand on his arm. "I know, friend. I know. But they are counting on us. I will not fail them."

Erik stared at him. "You ask me to once again plunge myself into the depths of hell for you?"

Jodrik sat back and considered his words. "I can not phrase it any other way."

Erik smiled and chugged the rest of his drink. "Alright then."

/

 **4E 218, 3rd of Sun's Dawn**

 **Army of Skyrim Camp Between Whiterun and Riverwood, Province of Skyrim**

A thick fog had settled down right on top of the Army's encampment. Now the front lines had zero visibility and any hopes of a straightforward assault were snuffed out. They were still grossly outnumbered by the Imperials and the scouting reports had not been delivered yet. Jarl Frothar had begun to suspect the worst had happened, they had either defected or been discovered.

In the night, his sister and her family had made their way into their camp. She explained that the Manor had been attacked by Imperials and that her husband had been killed in the fighting. He swore he'd make them pay for what they'd done. However, he noted that his sister-in-law Tralle wasn't among them.

He had only been to the Manor a handful of times and spoken with Samuel only once at their wedding but he seemed like he was a good person. To Frothar, he was family and kindling on the growing flame of hatred towards the Imperials.

Dagny, and the rest of her family had made their way to Whiterun where they took residence at Dragonsreach while Frothar and Nelkir remained at their stations on the battlements, southeast of the city.

Nelkir predicted an attack was imminent and Frothar was inclined to believe him. The dawn of Sun's Dawn's third day arrived and Frothar awoke with a start. The same nightmare he'd had for years. The day Whiterun was sacked by Stormcloaks and his father was taken out of power by Vignar Grey-Mane.

He remembered swearing revenge against Grey-Mane and lied in wait for thirteen years before retaking his birthright as Jarl of Whiterun. Sadly, his father had died in Stormcloak captivity.

In the first few years of Frothar's rule, he was strictly neutral, sweared no fealty to Ulfric or the Empire just as his father had done. But for the greater good of the Hold, Dagny married Samuel, whose father was a high ranking Stormcloak.

Back in the present, Nelkir burst into the tent out of breath and his sword in his hand. "Get up, brother!" he yelled. "They're here!"

Frothar stumbled to his feet. "Who?" he called back as he hastily readied himself.

"Imperial cavalry! They circled around us in the night and are beginning to charge!" Nelkir ran out of the tent just as hastily as he had entered.

When Frothar was ready, he retrieved his sword and ran out into the early morning. Soldiers of the Army of Skyrim and Hold Guards were frantically running about preparing a defense. Out in the distance, Frothar could see half of the Imperial force coming from behind them. The cavalry Nelkir mentioned were in the forefront and were charging at great speed.

Archers fired upon them and a few dozen horses and riders fell but the bulk of the force remained. They clashed into the encampment with ferocity and a great many soldiers were cut down. When the cavalry passed, Frothar rallied his remaining men and the charged out to meet the invaders head on.

/

Jodrik's band saw as they came over the hill that the battle had already begun. The flat plane surrounding Whiterun was covered with people locked in combat. It was pure chaos, but chaos was something Jodrik was used to. Wordlessly, the made their way around the battlefield towards the Western Watchtower.

When they reached the main entrance of the Watchtower, Jodrik knocked and they were let in. The Watchtower was being used as a makeshift hide away for civilians who were caught in the middle of the fighting. There was only a small garrison of about ten Hold guards.

Jodrik approached their leader who was nervously looking out over the battlefield from the top of the tower. "We need to reach the Jarl's camp. It's urgent."

The captain looked at him as if he were a madman. "No one is getting down there, it insanity."

Jodrik glanced out over the battle and then back to the man. "Just point me in the camp's direction."

The captain hesitated but pointed out towards a few dozen tents surrounded by bodies. "There." he said. The band left the Western Watchtower with haste and made their way towards the encampment.

/

The time was late and the sun hung low over the valley, the bulk of the battle was done and the two sides had devolved into a stalemate. The Army of Skyrim had been cut off from Whiterun so resupply and reinforcements were virtually impossible. Countless dead still lay across the battlefield and the sounds and smells dying men littered the air. The caw of feasting crows hung just as heavily.

Jarl Frothar's encampment had been surprisingly spared for most of the battle and was still relatively intact. There, he and Nelkir discussed new plans of attack in total darkness as to not alert and patrolling Imperials of their position.

"How bad are our loses?" Frothar asked wearily. His armor was dented and cracked and he was covered in sweat and blood, some not his own.

Nelkir poured over a piece of paper and shook his head. "More than half at the least. Our forces are absolutely scattered."

"What do we do, brother?" Frothar said almost helplessly.

A third voice came from outside the tent. "The Imperials are a snake."

Frothar and Nelkir were put on edge as a tall man entered the tent commandingly. "Cut the head off the snake."

Frothar took a deep breath and sheathed his sword. "Jodrik." he said.

Istanir also entered the tent followed by J'zargo, Suban, and Erik. Frothar recognized the young man. "Scout, I remember you. I trust you made it to Falkreath."

Istanir nodded. "I did but the Imperials attacked and murdered Jarl Dengeir. Most of the Falkreath Hold guards were wiped out but I do believe a few stragglers still remain."

Frothar rubbed his chin. "It's important that we regather them, we need all the help we can get."

Jodrik spoke up. "I'll make my way into the city and enlist the help of my allies in the Companions. The Harbinger owes me a favor or two."

"Good, we'll need warriors of their caliber. What of the rest of you?" the Jarl said.

"They'll wait here in the camp until morning and assist your men in fending off the Imperials. They've been hit harder than they expected and despite appearances, they're reeling. I've seen them before and I know their tells." Jodrik replied.

Frothar nodded and turned to the others. "Find a cot and some food. We need you all refreshed and ready for tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

Skyrim: Dragonborn Returns

 **4E 218, 4th of Sun's Dawn**

 **Contested Whiterun Hold, Province of Skyrim**

The only word to describe the battlefield was destruction. Bodies laid strewn about and the dirt had been upturned as men and horses ran about killing each other. The birds and animals had their feasts on the fresh corpses and the still lit fires from the respective camps of either side could be seen. Through the fog that was still heavy upon the plain, Dragonsreach could be seen. To Frothar, this was a foreboding reminder of what would happen if they lost to the Imperials.

To Jodrik, it was a sight he had seen before. He knew that Frothar silently loathed him for his role in sacking his home and imprisoning his father. He had been there that day, and killed many Hold guards as well as Imperials.

J'zargo and Suban weren't astonished by much it seemed. The Khajiits were old for men but young for Mer and had seen much in their time. Their homeland was almost constantly in one conflict or another and one more battlefield was not enough to phase them.

On the other hand, Erik had not been present for the chaos that was the Civil War and now it was like it had returned to haunt Skyrim like a phantom. He found himself uneasy as he stared at the corpses, he couldn't help think about the families of the soldiers and his own. What would happen to Lydia if he didn't return.

He had to be fair, Lydia was more than capable. She had been a housecarl and then a mercenary for many years. But Rorikstead could prove dangerous, so isolated from anywhere else.

Istanir lagged behind everyone else with his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Despite never really participating in a battle before, his gut was telling him something was very wrong. Not just the surrounding carnage, but something more.

Suddenly, Istanir heard a faint whimper from under a few bodies. It didn't sound like a man but instead a woman. He knew that the Army of Skyrim employed Shield-Maidens, but most of them were garrisoned in Windhelm. Istanir approached the small pile of bodies and heard the sound again. He crouched down and overturned one, and then another.

There, lying on her stomach was Tralle. The girl from the Manor that treated his wounds when he fell into the lake. Why was she here?

"Istanir…" she said weakly. She was covered in dirt and blood that wasn't her own and she was definitely dehydrated, there was not way of judging how long Tralle was hiding under the bodies.

"What are you doing here?" Istanir whispered, unsure if he sure inform Jodrik that his daughter was in the battlefield, let alone hiding under dead men.

"I got seperated...Imperials...attacked...manor…" she was weak and getting weaker. Istanir had to get her to safety.

Istanir pulled her out from the rubble and picked her up. He saw that Jodrik and the others were a long ways ahead and he rushed to catch up. Tralle bounced as Istanir jogged at the best of his ability with another person in his arms. Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, a few dozen Imperial soldiers surrounded the band. Even a warrior like Jodrik was no match for their numbers and he knew it.

Istanir saw Jodrik sheath his sword and beckon the others do the same. They did.

Tralle made a noise and Istanir whirled around to see even more Imperials coming up behind him. He felt her tense up in his arms but Istanir curiously relaxed.

When the soldiers reached him, one of the sheathed their weapon and held out his hands with a nod. Istanir nodded in reply and handed over Tralle as she began to panic.

"We'll take it from here." the Imperial said as they marched past Istanir.

The soldier carrying Tralle lingered behind. Istanir glared at him. "No harm comes to her, understand?"

The man nodded again. "Yes, captain."

/

 **4E 218, 7th of Sun's Dawn**

 **Riverwood, Imperial Skyrim**

It happened, Frothar watched as his Hold was slowly slipped from his grasp. Due to the positionings and not actually commanding any of the Army soldiers, most of his men fled towards Morthal and many Hold guards went off towards the Reach, leaving the city practically defenseless. It was only by luck that Frothar, Nelkir, and their uncle Hrognar managed to escape the carnage and make it to Riverwood. There, they ditched their armor and finery for plain clothes.

As for his compatriots, he had no idea. Scattered to the wind. Frothar had heard nothing from the Dragonborn or Sinmir. The three survivors changed their appearances as much as possible. Nelkir cut his hair short and Hrognar shaved as well as wiping his face paint off. Frothar shaved and bought charcoal from the nearest trader. Vigorously, he rubbed it into his hair until his blonde locks were jet black.

This was humiliating, a noble Jarl forced to flee his home and hide in some village on the border of his own Hold. The irony wasn't lost to Nelkir who was quick to point out that he did the same to Vignar and most of the Grey-Manes.

The trio slept in cots in the Sleeping Giant, Hrognar said that buying the best would possibly raise suspicion and they had no way of knowing who they could trust. They awoke on the seventh day of Sun's Dawn drowsily and in no hurry to go anywhere. They had nothing to do but watch the stream flow by and then retreat into the inn because a patrol of Imperial soldiers was passing by.

Today however, was different. The three of them exited their rooms and found another three strangers sitting in the inn. They all appeared to be in their mid-third decade. Two with dark hair and one with blonde. The blonde on stood up and shook Frothar's hand.

"Don't worry." he said in a hushed tone. "I know who you are."

Frothar tensed for several moments. The man spoke again. "I'm Ralof, this is Sven and…" he trailed off.

The third man spoke. He was tall and had a greatsword strapped to his back, he wore armor that depicted a snarling wolf across his chest and arms. His forearms were covered in bandages.

"Vilkas. Everyone calls me Deadwolf." he said, or rather grunted.

Frothar's mind clicked with recognition. "You're the Harbinger of the Companions!" he said with some excitement, Frothar had been a fan of the Companions since he was young.

Vilkas; however, frowned at the name. "I'm the only Companion left."

A feeling arose in Frothar's stomach. Something that almost made him want to wretch. If the Imperials could come in and wipe out the Companions in a matter of days, what else had they done to his city. The feeling of sickness disappeared and a feeling of anger and rage replaced it. At first, he was impartial towards the Empire but now a similar hate that the rest of Skyrim shared burned within the young Jarl.

"We were coming down from Solitude when we heard about the attack. We snuck into the city and found him unconscious and surrounded by dead Imperials. When the city fell, we escaped through the dungeon and came here." Sven explained.

"Why here?" Nelkir asked.

Sven and Ralof glanced at each other. "We grew up here. We didn't know where else to go." Ralof replied.

Hrognar stepped forward to confront the three. "What of Sinmir or Lieutenant Soljar?"

Sven thought a moment. "When they took Dragonsreach, they were led by a hulk of a man. Stood half a foot taller than anyone else and carried a sword similar to Deadwolf's. He… killed Sinmir and took Dragonsreach's occupants captive."

Nelkir's breath caught. "That includes-"

"-Our family." Frothar finished, the proverbial nail on the coffin that made him feel more useless than he already was.

"Soljar? What of him?" Hrognar asked.

Deadwolf piped up. "I saw him. The coward was running for the Reach with twenty or so soldiers at his back. He'll most likely get a medal for his 'bravery' while Sinmir is forgotten."

Frothar thought for a moment. "For now, we cannot think about them. We ought to return our attention to finding our friends. There's been no word from the Dragonborn or the members of his band. I fear they've been captured."

"Or killed." Hrognar huffed.

The hair on Frothar's arms stood on their ends at the thought. Despite not holding the Dragonborn personally in high regard, he knew when to set that aside for the greater good.

"Ralof," Frothar said. "It appears you can be of service to me. Poke around the Falkreath Hold. If any Imperial even has a thought about our friends, I want to know immediately."

Ralof nodded. "Yes, my Jarl." Ralof turned and was out the door in a flash.

Sven turned back to the rest. "What about me?"

Nelkir piped up again. "I may have need of someone like you. We need a detailed timeline of troop movements through Riverwood from the North or South. You will remain here with me while the rest of us head for Windhelm via the Rift."

Frothar nodded. "It's decided then. We have our objectives. Deadwolf, Hrognar, and I will make for Windhelm. You three are now our spies in Imperial Skyrim."

Sven nodded and crossed his arms. "Gods be with us."

/

 **4E 218, 11th of Sun's Dawn**

 **Helgen, Imperial Skyrim**

Jodrik sat alone in his dark cell in the Helgen dungeons. It would've been nostalgic under different circumstances but it seemed as if he could only be in Helgen whilst in chains. The last time he was a prisoner in Helgen, a dragon attacked and destroyed the town. Jodrik doubted any such luck would come again.

Unlike last time, these Imperials were aware of his identity as Dragonborn and fastened an apparatus around his mouth and neck, effectively muting him. He wasn't sure what the device was, only that his Thu'um was rendered useless with it attached.

In the days following his capture, the band had been scattered. Erik was taken off somewhere else: possibly to Falkreath, and Jodrik overheard rumors that J'zargo and Suban had escaped captivity and had gone to ground. Making them effectively impossible to find. Khajiits are never found unless they want to be. Jodrik didn't know what happened to Istanir. He wasn't among the group during their apprehension. Jodrik hoped he'd made it out alive.

The door opened and two men stepped in. They wore Imperial uniforms and one was carrying a torch to light up the cell they were holding Jodrik in. He felt his muscles tense up unknowingly as they walked in. The door closed behind them.

"Leave the torch." a deep, commanding voice said.

The other soldier nodded and placed the torch on the wall before returning from whence he came. That left him and the unknown Imperial alone in a locked cell. He could make out features with the torchlight. Short, dark hair that was freckled with gray and a beard trimmed extremely short. His face was covered in lines due to stress and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Dragonborn…" he said.

Jodrik couldn't reply even if he wanted to.

"You don't know who I am but I know you… and have known you for a long time. My name is Bayleon Charteris. I was there 17 years ago when you sacked Solitude with the Stormcloaks. I don't expect you to reply, I don't want you to. I wanted you to know, when Skyrim is ashes and you are forgotten, peace can truly find it's way to this province. Under the Empire's banner."

Bayleon stared at the Dragonborn for a few more moments before turning to leave. "Just think, I may even let you live to see it."

/

 **4E 218, 11th of Sun's Dawn**

 **City of Falkreath, Imperial Skyrim**

Istanir didn't quite know what to expect from Tralle. He'd turned his back on her father and left him to be captured by Imperial forces only for her to find out he was a part of the Imperial forces. It was true.

He'd been lying all along. 3 months prior, he'd been sent from Cyrodiil to infiltrate the Army of Skyrim and when the time came, activated as a sleeper agent. The time had come and he had managed to accidentally lure the Dragonborn out of hiding and into custody along with several able bodied allies of his.

Istanir climbed the steps to the Keep where Tralle was staying for the time being, she had been treated for her injuries and was resting in Falkreath. He opened the door and found a vase hurling towards his head. Istanir ducked and allowed the vase to tumble down the steps and shatter.

"That… was unexpected." Istanir said.

Suddenly, something else came at his face and he dodged that too. "Bastard!" Tralle shouted.

Istanir came forward and disarmed her of her candle and held her still while she calmed down. "I didn't want this to happen. You shouldn't have been at the battle!"

Tralle wriggled from his grip and slapped him. "Your friend killed my brother!" she yelled.

Istanir was taken aback by her remark. "I didn't know-"

"Now you do." she said angrily, baring her teeth like a growl. "Why am I even here?"

Istanir didn't reply until she was visibly calmer. "Your protection, there was no way of knowing how much of a fight your father would put up so for your protection, I had you removed."

"What of the rest of my family?" Tralle said as she attempted to settle down.

Istanir cleared his throat. "In Dragonsreach with Legate-"

"Evodius? He did it, you know. He killed Samuel. Your friend!" Tralle shouted.

"I don't know Evodius, from what I've heard, he is a loose cannon and I never trusted him. Believe me, I don't know why he saw your family as a threat."

Tralle didn't reply, instead her eyes bore holes into Istanir's soul. Finally, she spoke. "Who are you really?"

"...My name is Istanir, that much is true. Istanir Carvain. I'm the count of Bruma's bastard, and a spy."

"And traitor…" Tralle said vengefully.

Istanir looked down at his feet shamefully. He knew in a way that she was right. He had no way of explaining to her his purpose. Suddenly, there were footsteps coming up the stairs towards the Keep. Istanir glanced from the door back to Tralle, who was sitting on the bed and staring at the floor intensely. She was beautiful, but that wasn't his main concern at the moment.

"Damn it all…" he muttered.

Istanir drew a sword and pressed his finger to his lips, beckoning silence for a moment. He then gestured for Tralle to get under the bed, she did as she was told and Istanir hid behind the door. An unknowing soldier came in holding a plate of food, he saw that the room was empty and dropped the plate.

"Escaped." he muttered.

Istanir appeared from behind the door and stuck the blade through the soldier's chest. The last look on his face was a look of pure shock. A horrible way to die, indeed. Tralle crawled out from under the bed.

"What is your plan?" she said skeptically.

He turned to her. "I've made a mistake and I'm making it right in any way I can. We've leaving."

She got up and followed him down the steps and out of the keep. It was early morning, and the guards were only just stirring, they managed to make it out of the city walls under the cover of darkness. And were off to the west in a matter of minutes.

An Imperial commander stepped out into the early morning and noticed the footprints in the dirt leading towards the west. He looked up at the keep that now sat empty and frowned.

"Istanir…what have you done?"

A soldier ran up behind the commander breathlessly. "The prisoner and the captain are gone!"

The commander turned, he could barely make out any features on the man's face in the pale moonlight. "You don't say."

"What should we do, Commander Carvain?"

Commander Aethylius Carvain; eldest son of the count of Bruma stared at the road leading towards the Reach. His frown was deep and profound.

"Nothing. Bring me a horse and my bow... I'll deal with this myself."


End file.
